


Indecent Proposal

by thefabulousmrholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A mysterious deranged shadow of a man, Dark, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sub Molly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefabulousmrholmes/pseuds/thefabulousmrholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deadly presence finally reveals itself in Molly’s life, spinning it into turmoil, danger and horror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indecent Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so it’s been a while since I’ve written anything and it’s 4.51am here in the UK and I’m BORED OUT OF MY MIND. So of course, I decided to write the first thing popping into my head. It’s not a one-shot, but it’s not a completed chapter either. It’s a crazy, dark story about obsession, love, sex. I’ve no idea how this has turned out since I’m stuck in the mode of being half weary-half pumped and hopefully I’ve penned something worthy of a quick glance. I appreciate any advice if you’d like me to continue! :)

Left. Then right. Her pretty and large doe-like eyes darting nervously across the room. No doubt looking for a quick escape.  
  
Quiet thundering emanated from the left of her sternum, _just so_. If he strained his ears and closed his eyes, he could pretend the sweet drum was in sync with the pulse of his own blood rushing in his ears. Whichever idiot came up with the thought that one could not feel their own ears? His were perfectly tangible, thank you very much.  
  
He patiently watched the tiny bead of concentrated sodium chloride combined with her individual filth, drip fascinating down her cool and clammy forehead. Almost erotically so. He was convinced she was doing this on purpose to torment him. He reached forth and swiped that bead off her skin with his index finger, bringing it to his mouth and tasting her... _essence_. No bodily fluid captured one's true scent, quite like sweat.  
  
He watched as she recoiled. In disgust probably. That did not please him.  
  
Flaring his nostrils in silent fury he stood up and circled over to her back, looking over her petite, terrified figure. She sank even further into the chair, almost becoming one with the upholstery. He smiled at the thought. Like a hawk trapping his delectable little prey, he placed one hand on the beautifully carved mahogany desk and the other pulling her lovely hair tucked beneath her, over the chair. Roughly removing the flimsy piece of elastic holding her tresses together, he then gently entangled his fingers in them, savouring the silky touch. It felt just as soft as the velvet toy rabbit his mother had made for him as a child. What was its name again? Miss Feathers. Yes. Her hair embodied Miss Feathers.  
  
He sensed her general unease at his actions. Why was she resisting? Growing tired of her non-compliance he jerked her head backwards, pulling her hair brutally with his clever fingers still entwined in her chocolate mane. She cried out in anguish. It was delayed though. As if she did not want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her pain, but it was still too much in the end. _Ohhh_ that was the best sort. He didn't think it was possible, but he loved her even more in that moment. His nose now buried in her nape, drinking in her aroma.  
  
Part perspiration, part magnolia and his favourite, part fear. Yes, he could smell fear, just like dogs. He saw the irony there, the obvious metaphor. Didn’t care one bit, however. He thrived on it - inhaling the terror every man, woman, child exuded upon 'meeting' him. But hers? His eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed her into his system. The odour was driving him crazy. He could feel himself harden. _Now is not the time_.  
  
Placing a lingering kiss on a beauty spot behind her left ear, he released her hair, fanning it lovingly over the curvature of her seat.  
  
He made his way back to his side, across the desk, satisfied. For the time being. Doe-like eyes zeroing into his own. No doubt trying to gain answers. Who was he truly? What the fuck was he doing with her? How does he think this is _normal_? And the most puzzling one of all...why. Why her? Why now? Why wouldn't he let her go?  
  
Allowing himself a chuckle, he relinquished his predatory gaze from her, suddenly feeling shy, eyes downcast. He knew none of this was 'normal'. He wasn't crazy, you know. He understood her confusion. Her shock. He _understood_ her, period.  
  
But he couldn't help feeling flattered that all her attention, focus, was now directed towards him. Just for him. Finally. In a twisted way, yes, he recognised that. He wasn't crazy, you know, he knew it was fucked up. _Still_. She only had thoughts of him running through her gears in her wondrous, scientific mind. He simply had to savour that for one instance, breaking character.  
  
Her chair swivelled. His eyes shot up, boring into hers with a cool, steel-like trance again. She hitched, every nerve strung into hyper-vigilance.  
  
"Stop fidgeting. Put both your palms face down on the table, Molly. You know the consequences if you don't."  
  
Gingerly, he saw her return her wandering hands to their designated position. He felt a surge of pride at her obeyance. That's all he wanted after all.  
  
"I..I. I-I don't understand this. You could've just tied my hands this way." She whispered, surprisingly evenly.  
  
"And make this easier for you? Ha! No. These are the rules, and you're playing them. My way." He hissed.  
  
Her eyes watered as the tiniest of frowns marred her features. Poor darling, trying her best to 'figure out all this'. It both angered and amused him. But all her questioning and reluctance was tipping him over to the anger side of the spectrum. He saw her fingers twitching, despite their fixed stance on the desk. Her treacherous goddamn eyes gave up, as she painfully shut them and those defeatist tears raced down her cheeks. The right tear was quicker than the left, he noted. They hovered over her chin for three seconds before disappearing to her lap, joined by more waterworks. He was raging to say the least.  
  
Banging his fist down the desk, he yelled, the veins in his neck straining, "NO! NO FUCKING TEARS! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO ENJOY THIS! Get those goddamn disgusting things off your face now before I put a fucking bullet right through your brain."  
  
She had cringed initially, with his sudden change in demeanour, but seemed to relax once he'd finished. Her eyes still rammed shut and wetness still pouring, her shoulders slumped. She spoke with an almost mischief-like quality, "But how do I do that, without keeping my palms flat on this table?"  
  
That. That right there. That seemed to work. The incandescent rage that had struck him from her revolting portrayal of the damsel in distress rapidly dissipated with her awkward comment. Why was he mad at her? How could anyone be mad at sweet, socially awkward, Molly Hooper?  
  
The ugly scowl on his face morphed into a lopsided smirk, then a full-fledged grin, followed by a whole hearted guffaw. His entire being practically sang with joy when she joined him in his laughter.  
  
Eventually opening her eyes, she smiled and laughed with him and all was right in this world again. Taking a minute to regain composure, he beamed at her.  
  
"Well, you're finally coming to. I'm glad."  
  
With the smile still etched on her small mouth, she shook her head. "No. No, you're wrong."  
  
He froze.  
  
Her smile was wiped off her face and now replaced with repulsion. She stared at him as though she had smelt something thoroughly vile right under her nose.  
  
Renewed resolve flashed in her eyes as the ice-queen persona returned. She was back to not giving him the satisfaction after her momentary lapse of control. "Fuck. You." She uttered.  
  
His brows furrowed. He didn't get this. It wasn't logical. It wasn't her. She wasn't being honest.  
  
"But you love this. This is who you are."  
  
"You're even more insane than I thought. Who the hell are you to tell me who I am?"  
  
"You enjoyed these games with him though. You got off on them didn't you? Or rather...he got you off. No?" He whispered, locking his gaze with hers.  
  
This time it was her turn to choke. She was paralysed. Shock, fear, disillusionment, whatever it was, he didn't care. He loved it nevertheless.  
  
Deer caught in the headlights. The only way to describe her expression.  
  
"Oh yes, Molly. I know all about your...equation with him. The pleasure, the afflictions. The way he leaves you after your trysts each time. The way you wander around your flat touching every surface you...copulated on, sorrow reeking through your soul at his premature departures, _every time_. The aftermath of your completion, your climax, the way you sink your teeth into his shoulder right before and make that decadent sque-"  
  
"STOP IT!" she blanched, pale and wide-eyed.  
  
"I can't wait to hear that squeal when it's me this time Molly." He clasped his hands and leaned forward, his face inches from hers.  
  
He admired her determination. This time she didn't budge.  
  
"You're deluded."  
  
"Am I? We'll see. Now spread your legs."  
  
She blinked. Once, twice, four times in succession.  
  
"You're worried I'm going to fuck you? No. Not just yet. Not like this. Do as I say."  
  
Clenching her jaw she leaned back and shook her head again, the pulse of her external jugular jumping wildly away.  
  
Sighing, he took his Glock 42 out and loaded it, pointing it directly to her left breast.  
  
"Spread your legs, Molly."


End file.
